


To Measure

by LittleRaven



Category: Norse Mythology
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:46:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/pseuds/LittleRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She exists for revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Measure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sevenofspade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenofspade/gifts).



One opening is as good as another, she knows. She exists for revelations. But one can't set too low a price - otherwise the Allfather would see no reason to come, let alone pay. The völva has her usual list of vanities; doesn't anyone think she can get gold and jewels as if they were dirt? That's all they are in a cave. 

She waits. An echo ripples through the stone - this one doesn't want to come inside. He wants her out in the sun where he can stand amongst the trees He'll have the day staring at her earth-dwelling skin. She knows him. No more payment to the dark. It's an insult to the völva, but she knows it's only fear in his one eye. He'll be wise enough now to give her all she asks for, more, with no complaint or threat. He will give as he would have given to his wife had Frigg not refused to speak. She slides up that wet tunnel and out like a beaver, hiding her tail below. 

He has no wolves with him. The lord is enough by himself, of course - and he comes here as such, as the bare hard stone she waited in for him. 

"What you will know I've told already." And it will come, and balance the scale, create an order that makes sense. Gods can't win forever, aren't forever or they would not need apples to keep them so. It was the balm she'd offered Hel when arriving at her hall. 

"And still I will know it," he says. 

The völva understands; there is no real purpose in hiding it. That will only cause smaller wars before the great one. Hel wouldn't appreciate that. It is enough of a task to make an army, when no man will follow them. She will not make things more difficult for her own side. She will not be captured or hurt. He knows that already. 

"I have no need to avoid you." The trees, she notes, stand as they should - he has not knocked them down upon arrival or burnt them. This is a secret. All his ventures are, when he seeks to plot. Her tail twitches, nearly enough to move her waist as well. Better for him not to see. He is Allfather only in name, and those don't mean as much as he thinks they do. 

"Your need is to speak. Speak then." 

A boast. It is one she returns, as much as any old woman can, like the grandmother she will never be because she doesn't need it - the people to come are enough of that, and the Hel she would continue to advise. Like any old woman given the privilege as consolation, she wheedles so gently it will grate against his bones. As much as any grandmother, she stops when she will, waiting to be plied with gifts - if he will not praise her he will give gold in gowns and belts. Her fingers are heavy with rings. She does not stop when his hand twitches into a fist around his spear. This part, his death, is the one he wanted to hear most of all. To hide from his fear in his own glory. He will do nothing to her now. Later, his army will. It is just as she expects and speaking to him now is a victory, as much of one as a giant can have against a god who wins even as he loses. He needs what he can't see with the world beneath him and what he can't hear with the endless chattering ravens who speak only of men. 

Of course he still tries to be lord over her. He points that spear at her gold-covered chest, but her tail relaxes in the tunnel and she slides further up to flick it, lets it move her waist too. The völva will not smile; she does look (tall enough now) at his glimmering eyes with her stone face, what she had learned in the cave. "Your will has been done. It will be done. Is that not all you asked?" 

"A plodding guide through creation is no gift and a braggart is no aid."

But his hand loosens on the spear. 

"My wounded chest is no more helpful than a well-told tale to an ingrate." The smile is unavoidable - she can even be his grandmother when he behaves like this. She remains erect and staring and he doesn't break that as he pulls the spear away to his side. It isn't new for him to brood. If the völva was young, she would have added "Allfather" - he acts more like an errant child - but she is not and she knows how the habit of trying to avoid consequences does not limit itself to people who are not fathers. 

"Keep the gold, if it can be called that when your sweat sticks to it. I am fair, and cannot give back your hissing."

She leaves first. She hadn't watched him come and doesn't need to watch him go; will not watch him go as if the dirt he left behind is worthless. The völva slides back down tail first this time, giving him an unnatural exit and seeing his flickering eyes follow it down. Wise as he is and he won't look at her own eyes anymore. 

The smile stays until she's down so far he won't be pulling her up. He wouldn't anyway, but the fact of his ability matters. She mustn't forget her own body, and how it fits in the worlds, or doesn't fit in them at all. Gold scrapes against the stone as she slides - the völva shucks it off as she goes. Piles of it will soothe her other callers (the one advantage of god given gold over hers is that it's crafted. She can't see the improvement herself; one more thing twisted out of order for Odin's like. But that's not the kind of sight they ask of her.)

**Author's Note:**

> I like the old woman storyteller motif associated with fairytales, and went with the interpretation that Norse giants have a similarity to fae and spirits.


End file.
